The Need for the Life-Giving Water of Christ
Now, I’m no biologist, but I do know that seawater is not good for humans. I presume most of us know that. But we have to keep that in mind as we ponder on Ezekiel 47:1-2, 8-9, 12.
Ezekiel has a strange vision in this reading. An angel takes him to the temple, and he sees water gushing from the sanctuary, bringing life to whatever it touches—flowing from the place where God is to the place where God is not. Flowing to the sea. The sea, whose inhospitable nature was used as a symbol of death and chaos in Jewish culture. Not only are the waves terrifying when you’re not riding on Royal Caribbean 2,000 years ago, but if you drink it, seawater poisons you. The salt content raises your blood pressure to the point where it’s literally too hard for your heart to pump.
Seawater hardens the human heart.
But the water from God’s sanctuary gives life.
I was walking around the neighborhood a few days ago, just praying my rosary, and I ran into a boy probably 13 or 14 years old. He was outside playing basketball, and normally I would have just given a small wave I’m walking by. But before I even got close, he initiated contact and called out, “Hey, how’s your afternoon going?” I said, “Oh, it’s good. How’s yours?” “Good.” We talked a little bit.
At some point in the conversation, I said to him, “Is there any way I can pray for you?” He said, “Sure.” I said, “Anything in particular?” “No.” “Would you be willing to pray for me?” And he said, “I don’t really know how to pray.”
Which, if Ezekiel’s vision is correct, is the equivalent of saying, “I’ve been living off seawater my whole life. No one’s ever taught me to speak to the God who is the source of my life—the God who created me for love and out of love.”
The dedication of St. John Lateran is a celebration of when Christianity could come out of hiding and worship in a public space. Previously worship had been relegated to private homes, and coming out of hiding allowed it to mingle with those around it, bringing the living water from God’s sanctuary to them. But where the Church previously needed public buildings, I suspect the opposite is needed today. We need living water flowing from the sanctuary—flowing from the heart of Christ, whom we receive each week at Mass—to return into our private lives: our homes, our neighborhoods, our schools. We need Jesus to walk out those doors with us, not get stuck at them as we go back to whatever we typically do. And for Him to do that, we need Him to remove any obstacles preventing that life-giving love from following us out. That’s what He was doing when He was removing the money tables, turning them over, casting out the money changers. He was getting rid of the obstacles that impeded the water flowing from God’s sanctuary to the rest of His people.
We need Jesus to cleanse our homes as He cleansed the temple—not to shame us, but so that our homes are not just our house, but our Father’s house. A place where we don’t just sit around the living room aimlessly scrolling on our phones or searching for a movie on Netflix that we don’t even really want to watch, but it seems like there’s nothing better to do. We need our homes to become places where the way we pray, the way we eat, the way we work, and the way we play together become a source of refreshment and new life for ourselves and our neighbors—those who are living off seawater.
Our neighbors and our kids need more than just one of these.
They need the heart of Christ.
The heart which Christ entrusts to us at Mass.
That neighborhood boy will probably never step foot in this church. But he and his family might come over to your house for dinner. And from that place of relationship, if we were to ask them casually—not in a weird way, but casually—“Is there any way I can pray for you?” and they were to say, “I don’t really know how,” then we could simply take a moment to show them—praying for them, again not in a weird way, but as an act of gratitude and love for them.
We have an opportunity in our homes to bring others to the life-giving water that flows from this sanctuary and out the door with us.
Father Grant Huslig, Parochial Vicar